


A Study in Bridegooms and Blood

by ArkStationsLibrary



Category: Enola Holmes (2020)
Genre: F/M, Murder, Mystery, Sex, Weddings, mature themes, weddings AND murder because nothing says happily ever after like death and cake
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-25
Updated: 2020-12-22
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:47:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 15,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27198020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArkStationsLibrary/pseuds/ArkStationsLibrary
Summary: 21 Enola Holmes is horrified to find an engagement announcement in the newspaper announcing her 'engagement' to Lord Tewkesbury. Upon realizing there have been a series of dead brides at a popular wedding destination however, she realizes that , as her brother says, a game is afoot. Sherlock needs Enola to pose as a young bride to solve a particularly difficult case. And Tewkesbury just happens to be the perfect candidate to play her fiancé. But in between the murder and bloodshed, will the two be able to remember its only for show and not their actual wedding day?
Relationships: Enola Holmes/Viscount "Tewky" Tewksbury
Comments: 159
Kudos: 650





	1. Of Announcements and Weddings

**Author's Note:**

> Enola and Tewkesbury are older in this. They're twenty-one, and several years have passed since their first meeting.

One  
It wasn’t often that Enola Holmes took a carriage. She often preferred her bicycle, or walking, or the train if it were a truly far distance. In this case, she had opted to make an exception. After all, it wasn’t every day that one contemplated murdering their brothers. She would need a quick get away. Though they lived in the same city, Enola had purposefully chosen not to reside near Sherlock’s 221 Baker Street apartments for the sake of her own freedom. The more space between herself and her brothers, the better. 

Mycroft lived even farther away. In one of the posh, upper class residences nearer to the House of Lords and Commons. While Enola’s home was by no means shabby, it certainly was a far cry from his residence. And she was all the better for it. 

As she was being jostled in the carriage, having urged the driver to go as fast as he could, Enola stared at the paper. Holmes Heiress Betrothed to the Viscount Tewkesbury, Marquess of BasilWether screamed at her from the front page. At first, Enola had thought it was Mycroft’s doing. That somehow, he had weaseled his way into Lady Tewkesbury’s good graces and convinced her to arrange a marriage between herself and the young Lord she’d saved all of those years ago. 

At one and twenty years of age, Enola and the Lord had been dear friends for some time. But that was all they were. Tewkesbury, despite his valiant efforts to make an honest woman of her, understood that Enola needed her freedom. So, friends they remained. Despite hand grazes and longing glances and lives saved a dozen or more times between them since the first time when she’d been a slip of a girl at sixteen. 

But then, the evening edition of the newspaper hit and Enola saw a different headline. Ghost Strikes Again at Thistle Hall Fifth Bride Killed in Five Years. No. The ‘arranged marriage’ was not the work of Mycroft, however eager he might be to see her ‘reigned in’ and ‘tamed’. This had Sherlock Holmes written all over it. 

The only question was, what was her ludicrous brother thinking? And how could she put a stop to it before Tewkesbury got wind of the whole idea if he hadn’t already? 

The carriage pulled to a stop. The door opened, revealing the short, pudgy driver who smiled at her. “221 Baker Street, Miss.” Enola folded up the newspaper with the announcement then paid the driver, muttered her thanks, and walked up the steps to her brother’s residence. She knocked fiercely on the door. 

“…. leave it to me, of bloody course,” this was muttered by none other than Doctor John Watson as the door opened. A retired army doctor due to a bad leg injury, Doctor Watson was a skinny, tall fellow with sandy blond hair, watery blue eyes, and an impeccably groomed mustache. He had resided in Sherlock’s residence ever since her brother had been having issues with his opium withdrawals. John smiled politely when he saw Enola. “Enola,” he said, “what a pleasant surprise! Were we expecting you?” 

Normally, Enola found her brothers partner lovely when she visited. On this particular evening, Enola found nothing remotely charming about John Watson. In fact, she was thinking of the sixty different ways that she could skewer him with her parasol. “Where. Is. He?????” she demanded. 

John coughed. “Have you come for tea? Or----” 

She shoved the paper at him. “Doctor Watson, where is he? I’m in no mood to be toyed with. I know my brothers here. I can hear the bloody violin!” It was, in fact, faintly playing upstairs. He hadn’t even bothered to try to escape out the window or use one of his disguises on her. No, Sherlock Holmes had planned all of this. And he knew exactly what he was doing. 

She had already spotted the dirt on one of the stairs. The bits of fern leaves on the stoop leading up to the apartment. Tewkesbury was there. Presumably waiting for her brother. 

John sighed. “He’s upstairs.” 

Enola tilted her head to the side. “And?” 

“And the Marquess came earlier,” he added, “but Enola, you really don’t understand----” 

“Move,” she ordered. 

Doctor Watson, for his part, knew better than to tango with a Holmes sibling. He moved to the side, letting Enola come inside. “Sherlock, she’s coming!” Doctor Watson called upstairs as he followed Enola up. 

Enola burst through the door where she could hear the violin, ignoring Johns protests as she pushed on through. “Sherlock. Bloody. Holmes!” Enola cried as she burst into his study. The detective in question stood by the fireplace, violin tucked in underneath his chin. 

He paused what he was doing, and looked directly at her. “Ah. Enola! What a lovely surprise. Come, have a seat. Were we expecting you?” 

She shoved the paper with the announcement at his chest. Sherlock took it, his lips twitching into something akin of a smile. “Happy news, isn’t it?” he said. “I should think that you and the young Lord will be very happy.” 

“Don’t toy with me, brother,” Enola said, “I know. I know this isn’t about a real marriage between us. Or at least you had better not because I will skewer you to death with my parasol. What is it that you’re doing this for?” 

Sherlock smiled. “Clever girl,” he said, “always.” 

“Sherlock…” 

“Someone is killing brides at an inn. I want to know who, and why,” he said, “I’ve been hired by the owners to find the killer. But I couldn’t very well let some poor young woman arrange her wedding there knowing she might be killed. I thought you might be willing to assist.” 

Enola frowned. “Why The Marquess of Boringshire?” she demanded. “Why not Doctor Watson? He wouldn’t get any ridiculous ideas in his head. And there’s no potential fiance’s that will cry tears over him being engaged.” 

“Excuse you!” said Doctor Watson, who had taken a nearby seat closer to Sherlock. “I’ll have you know I’m quite popular with the ladies.” 

Enola smiled politely at him, and he frowned while grabbing his cup of tea and focusing on that. 

Sherlock shot John a look. “While I’ve no doubt of your prowess with women, Watson, you are far too old for my dear sister. Also, it was Tewkesbury that brought me the case.” 

Enola frowned, and John harrumphed at being called ‘too old’. “Tewkesbury brought you the case?” she wondered. 

“Yes,” he said, “he was at the most recent wedding, and when he learned about the previous dead brides, he thought that the two of you might be of some assistance. But the killer only kills brides on their wedding day, so we needed to have a wedding to lure the killer out.” 

Enola’s eyes surveyed the room. Sherlock’s parlor had a large window, a globe in the corner, and bookshelves lining the walls. A graphophone in the corner. The tea tray, and the drink cart. But, strangely, there was a rather large, black leather traveling case off in the corner. “Excuse me,” she said. 

She walked over to the traveling case. She kicked it with her boot and a grunt came from within. She kicked it again, and the case toppled over, revealing Tewkesbury, who was now sprawled out on the floor of Sherlock’s parlor. “Nincompoop,” Enola hissed, reaching down and pulling him up by his ear. 

“Ow, ow, ow. Enola! You’re hurting!” Lord Tewkesbury exclaimed, and reluctantly Enola let his ear go once he was standing up straight. He groaned, and rubbed it. “Was that really necessary?” 

“Yes, it was necessary!” Enola said, then swatted him with her parasol. “As was that.” 

Lord Tewkesbury winced again. “Ow!” 

“You couldn’t have told me?” she demanded. 

“If I had, would you have done it?” 

Enola rolled her eyes. “No. I would have found a better way to find the killer, such as possibly using actors instead of coercing a young woman who has no intention of ever marrying into a public engagement.” 

“Ah,” said Sherlock, “well……that would have been an idea.” 

“That’s what I said!” insisted Doctor Watson. “But you insisted it had to be someone important enough to lure out the killer.” 

“No going back now, I’m afraid,” said Lord Tewkesbury, “I already told Mother, and she’s dead set on making it happen.” 

Enola groaned. “Your mother knows? Tell me she realizes it’s pretend.” 

“Oh, she does,” said Lord Tewkesbury, “I told her multiple times. That doesn’t mean she isn’t going to use this to her advantage to make it real, I’m afraid. I did explain it all to her though, in depth…” 

“Tewkesbury,” Enola said, “please tell me you’ll cry off once the murderer is found.” 

Lord Tewkesbury smiled at her, in the way that made his eyes twinkle, and made her feel warm all over and in complete agreement to everything he said. “I’ll cry off. Haven’t I proved I’m a man of honor, Enola?” 

She almost retorted that he wasn’t a man. But that was the problem. They were no longer children running through the English countryside anymore. They were adults. “Fine,” Enola said with a grimace, “I’ll help. But I swear Tewkesbury, if your mother brings up grandchildren once, I we won’t need to find the killer because it will be me.” 

Tewkesbury grinned, then took her hand in his, and kissed it as he was apt to do. “You’re wonderful, Enola Holmes.” 

“And you are a pain,” she replied. 

Then she glanced at Sherlock. “And when does the dreadful day happen?” 

“On Sunday next,” said Sherlock, “but we’re leaving for Thistle Hall on Monday, to begin preparations and scour the grounds. Lady Tewkesbury will be coming with us, of course.” 

“That’s fine,” said Enola, “just tell me that Mycroft---” 

“He’s coming,” said Sherlock, “it wouldn’t look right if he weren’t at his own sister’s wedding, Enola. Especially to someone as prestigious as Tewkesbury.” 

Enola sighed. “You’re right. Bloody idiot is probably shouting about it in parliament. Fine. There’s always got to be one terrible family member at weddings, hasn’t there?” 

Sherlock smiled. “Too right you are, dear sister. You’ll stay for the night so that we can head out tomorrow?” 

“Of course,” she agreed. 

“And you, Tewkesbury?” said Sherlock. 

“I’m afraid Mother would find it highly improper,” said Lord Tewkesbury, “fake marriage or no. But I will see you at Thistle Hall. A wedding is afoot, after all. But I must away to make preparations. Mr. Holmes. Doctor Watson.”

He bowed to them, and to Enola he, strangely, bestowed a kiss on the cheek. Perhaps the most brazen he had ever been in showing his affection. Enola’s cheeks turned rose red, and she furrowed her brows together. 

“Tewkesbury----” she started to say. 

“Relax, dear Enola,” he said, placing a hand on her arm, squeezing it gently, “a wedding is afoot, after all. Best to get into character soon.” He grabbed his hat, jacket, and the bag that he had hidden in. Then tipped his hat to the others and was out the door before Enola had much time to wonder at the gesture that had left her cheek tingling in ways that were almost more of a mystery to her than the murder they were going to be investigating. 

Doctor Watson coughed. “Alright, Enola?” 

Enola shot him a glare. “Idiots. The lot of you. I’ll retire for the evening. Good night, brother.” 

“Good night, Enola,” Sherlock said, “best wishes on your wedding day.” 

Enola shot him a look, and once more debated death by parasol for the detective, but she simply nodded and retired to her brother’s guest room for the evening. When she was alone, undressing for the night, not a single soul but herself saw her place a hand on her cheek exactly where Tewkesbury had kissed her. 

A wedding was afoot, indeed. 

Shaking her head, Enola crawled into bed. Though sleep never came, only images of the Lords face, and the feeling of his lips on her cheek torturing her through the night.


	2. Of Teacups and Wedding Dresses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enola gets fitted for her wedding dress, and begins to suspect there is more to what is happening at Thistle Hall.

Two   
Before they leave London, Enola has to stop at a dressmakers. Sherlock, it seemed, had made arrangements well before they were supposed to leave so the design of the dress had been chosen. All that was left was for Enola to choose the fabric and be fitted. On Monday morning, she was somehow unsurprised to find Lady Tewkesbury at the residence of 221 Baker Street. “Enola, my dear!” the sweet woman hugged her. “Why, I’ve never been more happy!” 

Enola grimaced. Lady Tewkesbury had become one of her fast friends over the years. Despite her insistence that she would eventually marry her son. She had tried, more than once, to set the record straight with the dear woman. “Now, Lady Tewkesbury, you know this is all for show, don’t you?” 

“Oh! Pish posh!” she said, looping her arms through Enola’s as she swept inside Sherlock’s home. “Of course, I know it’s all for show. Let me have my fun, darling. You don’t know what a relief it has been to tell off all of those fortune hunting Mama’s that keep sending their daughters off after Tewky. Everyone’s wondered if you were an item for years, and now I can finally say that my son is making an honest woman out of you. Even if it is only a fake engagement.” 

Enola smiled, slightly relieved. That didn’t stop her from side-eyeing Lady Tewkesbury, who was strangely nonplused about the whole thing. When Enola had saved her son the first time, she had stayed for a short while at the Tewkesbury residence until she managed to secure lodgings of her own that weren’t rat infested. 

Enola thrice been locked in a room with Tewkesbury, been pushed out on a boat, and sent on at least two “romantic” hiking expeditions to find herbs for the cook. She was perfectly aware how set Lady Tewkesbury was on the idea of Enola becoming her daughter, which worried Enola a bit. 

But still, Tewkesbury would set the record straight. She had no doubt about that. They would find the killer, and everything would be put to rights. 

“Now, come along my dear! We must get your dress taken care of.” Lady Tewkesbury looped her arm through Enola’s, and they took her private carriage to the dress shop. 

If Enola were the kind of girl who got excited at the prospect of dresses, getting fitted for her “wedding gown” was a momentous occasion. As it was, it took all of Enola’s patience to let the dressmaker fit the gown to her brother’s specifications. It was their Mother’s dress, Enola had learned, which was the one thing Eudoria had been able to contribute. 

Sherlock had told her that very morning that their mother knew of the fake nuptials, as he’d had the message relayed to her through Edith. Eudoria hadn’t been seen much these days due to her work in the suffrage movement that kept her busy, but from what Enola knew, her mother was happy and living the life she had wanted to live. Trying to make a difference. 

She saw her every now and again, but Eudoria had her own world. As did Enola. 

Enola supposed---if it had been a real wedding----she might have been a bit sad about her mother not being there. But since it was a charade, she was handling everything rather well. Even as Lady Tewkesbury cooed over her while she was being fitted and drank the champagne the seamstress had given them. 

“You’re going to be lovely,” Lady Tewkesbury said. Upon a reproachful look from Enola, Lady Tewkesbury coughed. “I mean, when the day actually does happen. With your chosen bridegroom. Of your choosing.” 

Enola sighed. “I’m terribly sorry Lady Tewkesbury. Sherlock is terribly clever, but he doesn’t understand boundaries I’m afraid. If he had, we wouldn’t be in this mess.” 

She smiled. “It’s quite alright. I think my son needed this, to tell you the truth. Tewky has been getting rather a bit restless with his job, even though he understands how important it is. You know how connected he is to you---what with everything you went through---and I think when he found this, he saw it as an opportunity to escape.” 

“Sherlock said he was at the wedding where the last bride died?” Enola asked. 

Lady Tewkesbury nodded. “The girl was a dear friend of his. Their family estate is right across the way from ours. At one point, I almost thought he would marry Betony, but she wound up swept off her feet by some, young trade salesman or something or rather.” 

“Trade salesman?” Enola asked. 

“Yes,” the woman was now looking through swathes of fabric absentmindedly, “his family makes those reproduction china tea sets they sell in shops.” 

“Interesting----ow!” Enola winced as the seamstress accidentally poked her with her pin. 

“Terribly sorry, ma’am,” the young girl apologized. 

“It’s alright,” Enola said. “And the family approved of the match?” 

“As far as I know,” said Lady Tewkesbury, “she was poisoned, they say.” 

“Poisoned?” Enola asked. “With what?” 

“Tewky told me, but I don’t quite remember. You’ll have to ask him.” 

“There!” exclaimed the seamstress. “All done. Well, almost. I’ll do the finishing touches like repairing some of the beading and lace tonight. But you’ll be ready for big day, Miss Holmes.” 

Enola smiled at the young woman who had worked on her dress. “Thank you,” she replied. 

“Where are you getting married?” the young woman asked. “If you don’t mind my asking. Everyone was so excited when we heard that you were gettin’ married, Miss Holmes. And that you were comin’ to our shop! All the girls and I read about you in the papers, and we’ve heard about your Marquess too! Handsome fellow, if you don’t mind me sayin’.” 

Enola found herself blushing at the mention of Tewkesbury’s looks, although she couldn’t fathom why. She was not blind. She had long ago noticed Tewkesbury’s charms. It was fighting them that made things difficult. 

“Yes, he is,” Enola agreed, which earned her a strange look from her “future mother-in-law”. Lady Tewkesbury’s eyes were sparkling with something like mischief, which made Enola regret admitting that instantly. Still, she smiled politely at the seamstress and answered her question. “Thistle Hall.” 

The young woman gasped a little. “But---b-b-but that’s the place where---”

“There have been dead brides?” Enola sighed. “I know. But it is the home of an old friend, and my father’s dearest wish that I get married there. So, I’ve no choice in the matter.” It was a bold face lie, one that made Lady Tewkesbury almost snicker. The seamstress nodded solemnly and took Enola’s hand in hers. 

“May god be with you, Miss Holmes,” she said, “you’ll need all of the help you can get.” 

Enola smiled. “Thank you for the kind words---Nellie, was it?” 

The girl nodded, looking pleased that Enola had remembered. “Your work was impeccable, thank you,” she said, “but now, I must be off. Even more wedding arrangements to make, I’m afraid.” 

Lady Tewkesbury went into the waiting room, while Nellie helped Enola out of her gown and into the dress she’d been wearing when she came in. As she was getting dressed, she heard the shattering of something coming from the nearby storeroom. 

“Blast!” a girl’s voice exclaimed. 

Nellie, who had just helped Enola into her dress again, swore. “Lilly, is that you?” she demanded. “What did Mrs. Price say about being back there?” 

A girl with blond hair popped out of the room. “Terribly sorry, Miss Nellie. Mrs. Price said she had some extra teacups back here and I was trying to get them only I dropped one.” 

“Wretched girl,” Nellie hissed with an eyeroll, “excuse me, Miss Holmes. Mrs. Price will see to you at the counter.” 

“Oh---no. Let me help. It’s the least I can do.” Enola got off the footstool she had been standing for her fitting, then swept into the storeroom before Nellie could object. She helped the young Lilly pick up the bits of broken glass. 

Enola recognized the pink pattern---called the sweethearts design---that was popular amongst young brides. The back room had many of them, all in brown boxes with a pink ribbon and the name Couer and Sons written on it with a heart logo that had two, small doves flying on either side of it. 

“Oh, Miss Holmes,” said Lilly, “you don’t have to do that. It was my fault.” 

“Nonsense,” said Enola as she bent to pick up the bits of shattered, reproduction china, “it’s the least I can do after you ladies helped me with my dress so quickly. But why are there so many tea sets back here?” 

“It’s part of a package deal,” Lilly explained, “Mrs. Price is known for her wedding dresses, but we often help brides with other things as well. China for the home, cosmetics…. she wants to open something like Harrods one day, with a special focus on items for the home for young brides, Like Harrods, but with a female focus. Of course, it will take ages before she can see that dream through. But she collects items from merchants and stores them here to give as gifts to the young women that come through here. Would you like one?” 

“Why, I couldn’t---” Enola started to object, but before she could finish, Nellie had already taken a box with one of the tea sets down for her. 

“Consider it a weddin’ gift, Miss,” said Nellie, “I know your young Lord will have finer things than that, but it will be somethin’ to remember us by.” 

Enola smiled at the girls, and then placed the broken china from the broken cup in a nearby rubbish bin. “Thank you,” she said, “they’re lovely. I’ll cherish them.” She felt guilty taking the set, but she couldn’t very well leave them without arousing suspicion. After all, she was supposed to be a blushing bride. It would look strange if she was turning down wedding gifts. 

“Enola!” Lady Tewkesbury called. “Are you ready dear? I’ve settled our accounts, and we must away---we’ve a busy day ahead of us. Lot’s more than just dresses to handle.” 

“Thank you, again, ladies,” Enola said, “Good day, Miss Nellie, Miss Lilly.” 

“Good day, Miss Holmes.” The girls curtsied to her, and Enola did the same. Clutching her newly acquired tea set to her chest, she left the storeroom and followed Lady Tewkesbury out to the carriage. 

Once inside, Lady Tewkesbury smiled at her. “That was sweet of them. Whatever did they gift you?” 

“A tea set,” Enola answered, “one of those reproduction ones that all of the factories are making.” 

“Oh! Do let me see. I’ve wondered at the quality of them for ages. Of course, we’ve perfectly splendid tea sets at the manor, but they might make for lovely Christmas gifts for the servants.” 

Enola handed the box over to her. 

“Might I open it?” she asked. 

“Of course,” Enola said. 

Lady Tewkesbury opened the gift, and took out a delicate, pink cup. “Oh, these are lovely. You’d never know they aren’t original china! And what a delicate little logo on the bottom. Hmm…. yes, I must look into getting some of these. Couer and sons….Heart and Sons…..” 

Lady Tewkesbury chatted on merrily, fawning about the tea set, and other errands they had to run for the day. But while the older woman was pleased with the gift, Enola found herself unable to be at ease with it. Though she couldn’t fathom how there could be anything sinister in a tea cup, Enola couldn’t help but think it had been a warning of some kind. 

After all what was it Lady Tewkesbury had said about the bride that had died at Thistle Hall? She’d been engaged to a tradesman, who sold reproduction china teacups. A coincidence, perhaps. But Enola was a Holmes. Nothing was ever a coincidence.


	3. Of Secrets and Houses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lady Tewkesbury discovers some interesting gossip, and Lord Tewkesbury tries to avoid it.

Three 

Lord Tewkesbury could feel his mother’s prying eyes on him as they road in the carriage to Thistle Hall. The Holmes Family were taking the train from London, but Lord Tewkesbury and his mother had left the city on Monday evening to go ahead and start with the “wedding preparations”. 

“Remind me why you want to do this again?” his mother asked. 

He put down the paper which he had been trying, and failing, to read due to his mothers probing. “We’ve been over this. It’s for Betony. The family has been distraught. I promised Betony’s brother that I would help find her killer.” 

“Yes,” said Lady Tewkesbury, “yes, and strangely, Lord Whittier doesn’t seem the slightest bit upset about Betony’s death. There hasn’t even been a funeral, but they are very eager to find the killer.” 

“Well, that is why there hasn’t been a funeral, mother,” said Lord Tewkesbury, “the family hopes that Sherlock can find him before Betony is put to rest. They don’t want her spirit to have cause to wander. You remember the Viscountess of Whittier, and how superstitious she is.” 

“Ah yes, I do remember Ada having a superstitious nature,” Lady Tewkesbury replied, “when you were sick as a baby, she used to bring me little charms to make sure that you were well. She was worried the spirits would get you.” 

He smiled at his mother. “I believe you kept some of them, as I recall.” 

She nodded. “Yes, I did. It was a silly gesture, but a sweet one.” 

“So, you see---this is why we must try hard to find the killer.” 

“What about the fiancé?” Lady Tewkesbury suggested. “In the stories The Tattler publishes, they’re often the culprit. Has Mr. Holmes started there?” 

Tewkesbury nodded. “Yes. He was completely grief stricken. Sherlock himself said it was ‘unbefitting’ and you know how uncomfortable he gets with emotion.” 

His mother nodded. “Of course. I hugged him once at Christmastime last year for that brooch he gave me, and I’ve never seen a gentleman so awkward. Excepting, of course, when Doctor Watson thanked him for the book of anatomy Sherlock got him.” 

Lord Tewkesbury smiled at the mention of the awkward encounter. Affection had, Lord Tewkesbury learned from Enola, been in short supply for her brothers. Her father had been very intent on making them successful men since they weren’t “of the manor born” themselves. Mycroft had dutifully done his fathers bidding, going to boarding school, then University, before assisting his father and finally taking over his position in the government. 

Sherlock had had a rather different path, Enola had said. He hadn’t wanted the burden of the Holmes legacy. He’d gone to great lengths to brush it off, doing everything from prize fighting to chemistry to swordsmanship. 

Enola, being the youngest, and a girl, had gotten a different view of her mother and father then her brothers. Her father, from the little time she got to spend with him, and been sweet. And her mother was a force to be reckoned with who was entirely responsible for Enola and her fierce independent streak. 

“Yes well,” said Lord Tewkesbury, “Sherlock said that any man that cried the way the fiancé did couldn’t have been responsible for Betony’s death. Anyway, everyone believes it’s the ghost that haunts Thistle Hall doing it. So, we find the ghost, and we find Betony’s killer.” 

Lady Tewkesbury’s eyes widened. “Good heavens! You don’t actually believe there’s a ghost haunting the grounds, do you?” 

He shook his head. “No. But I do think there’s something causing havoc there. You’ve been to as many weddings as I have there, and you know the family is in a dire predicament. They only started hosting weddings there recently when their good for nothing brother gambled away the family fortune and ran off with their maid.” 

“But why kill brides?” Lady Tewkesbury said. “What good could that do?” 

He smiled at his mother. “That’s what we’re going to find out this weekend. Thank you, Mother, for being so supportive. I know that something like this could cause a scandal for the family, being that it is a fake engagement.” 

“Is it?” Lady Tewkesbury said. “Because I overheard our maids saying something rather interesting about Thistle Hall this morning.” 

“Oh?” he said, attempting to feign innocence. “What is that? Another sighting of the ghosts of dead bride’s past?” 

Lady Tewkesbury shook her head. “No. According to them, because of the scandal surrounding the home, they are selling. And Thistle Hall has just been bought by a buyer of whom no one knows the identity of.” 

“Well,” said Lord Tewkesbury, “that is an interesting bit of information.” 

“Yes,” said Lady Tewkesbury, “isn’t it?” 

She was probing his face for secrets again. Lord Tewkesbury coughed. “Mother….” he said, shifting in his seat and pulling at his tie. “You must stop that. You’re making me uncomfortable. That information is entirely new to me, and I will be telling Mr. Holmes about it once they arrive, I assure you. Although more than likely he probably already knows.” 

“Of course,” said Lady Tewkesbury, “it is a mystery, after all. Things are bound to be strange.” 

“Yes,” said Lord Tewkesbury, “strange indeed.” Then, cool as a cucumber, he returned back to reading his paper as if his mother weren’t looking at him like the cat that had caught the canary.


	4. Unto The Breech

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enola, Sherlock, Doctor Watson and the Tewkesbury's arrive at Thistle Hall and begin to unravel its secrets.

Four   
Unto The Breech 

The train ride to Thistle Hall was long. Long enough for Enola to muse over what she knew about the mystery that they were looking into. 

Here is what Enola knew of Thistle Hall: it had been in the same family for decades, a Lord of some small renown who Enola had never heard of. It was quite near Lord Tewkesbury’s own home. Only the family had fallen on dire straights some years ago. Something to do with a brother that had absconded with a maid or something or rather, taking the family fortune with him. 

The family had since had to loan it out as a venue for celebratory events. It had become one of the most popular wedding venues in all of England. But, in the past five years, one of the daughters had gotten married and died on the property. There had also been a series of dead---some say murdered---brides giving it a bad reputation. 

Thistle Hall was also home to ghosts if one believed the legends. The ghost of the first dead bride who had died of illness, walked the halls, killing the young women that were married there. All because she couldn’t get married herself. 

But stories of the ghost had only started in the past few years. And ghosts weren’t real. Something was wrong at Thistle Hall, but it wasn’t a ghost. 

“Enola,” said Sherlock, who sat across from her in the carriage, “are you alright? You’re strangely quiet.” 

“Contemplating your murder, dear brother,” Enola retorted, “I can’t exactly tell you the details now, can I?” 

Sherlock frowned, and Doctor Watson chuckled. 

“I told you this was a terrible idea,” said Doctor Watson. 

“I’ve already told you that the engagement is a farce,” said Sherlock, “you absolutely won’t have to marry him once the investigation is over.” 

Enola clenched her teeth together. Her brother was known for his astute observations, but Enola didn’t particularly feel like explaining the true error. She enjoyed watching her brother squirm, which wasn’t something that had happened often in her lifetime. Her one consolation of this whole thing was that Mycroft had to arrive late because of work. 

“Why are the hauntings happening now?” Enola asked. 

“What do you mean?” Sherlock said. 

“Well, there have been no previous reports of ghosts, except for the past five years. Usually, when hauntings happen in old homes, they go back centuries. The reports only started when the first bride died, and she was not even murdered. The reports said that she died of scarlet fever. So, what is causing the spirit to suddenly ‘haunt’ the grounds?” 

“It’s not a ghost,” Sherlock said. 

“I’ve deduced that much,” said Enola. 

“They’re selling the home because of all of the deaths,” Sherlock said. 

“But the weddings have been successful?” Enola asked. “Aren’t they making quite the fortune with them? From everything I’ve heard, it’s been enough that they were able to replace what was taken from the brother that absconded with the maid. And the ghosts seem to bring about publicity for it.” 

“The weddings are successful,” said Sherlock, “but the stigma of the ghosts, and the dead brides, well they want to move to a location that doesn’t have---” 

“The stigma of death,” said Enola, “that only recently started within the first, five years. And the first girl wasn’t even murdered.” 

“Well, she’s got unfinished business,” remarked Doctor Watson, “traumatic, dying before your wedding.” 

“There’s something familiar about this…. I can’t place it though,” said Enola, “everything, down to the pink teacups.” 

“Pink teacups?” Sherlock said with a raised eyebrow. 

“When I went to the dressmaker you suggested, they didn’t just sell dresses. Mrs. Price is trying to turn the whole place into an emporium, so she had one of those manufactured tea sets with that pink, sweetheart design that’s become so fashionable as of late. She has dreams of creating some kind of wedding shopping emporium, similar to Harrods, but with a female and family focus.” 

“Interesting,” said Sherlock, “something like that would be expensive to create, I imagine.” 

“Very,” Enola replied, “but she works with a series of merchants and sells other items in the dress shop. She’s got lofty ambitions for it.” 

“Sherlock, didn’t you say that the dressmaker had a lot of brides that got married at Thistle Hall?” Doctor Watson asked. 

“Yes,” he answered, “but that’s hardly a surprise. It has become rather fashionable since the family started doing it, even with the mystery of the dead brides surrounding it. Doesn’t seem to scare people off, and there are, after all, only five girls that have actually died. Gruesome though it may be.” 

“Perhaps there’s some sort of connection,” Enola suggested, “how did the other girls die?” 

“Poison,” Sherlock said. 

Enola thought of the teacup set she had left behind at Sherlock’s flat. “Perhaps you should have Mrs. Hudson send that set that I got to get it tested.” 

“Do you think someone is poisoning teacups to kill brides?” Sherlock asked. 

“There have been stranger things that have occurred,” Enola said, “like annoying brothers forcing their sister into a fake engagement for their detective purposes.” 

Sherlock grimaced, just as the train happened to pull to a stop. “Ah!” he said, relieved, “There we are. And there is your darling fiancé.” 

Sherlock smirked at her, and Doctor Watson snorted. Enola glared, but looked out the window to see that Tewkesbury was indeed there waiting with his mother. Lady Tewkesbury smiled and waved, while Tewkesbury himself was smiling as well but at least looking a little embarrassed. 

“Right then,” said Enola, “and we’re off to the races.” 

Her brother offered her his arm, and the three of them got off the train. 

“The Holmes’s!” Lady Tewkesbury exclaimed. “And Doctor Watson! I’m so excited you arrived.” She wrapped Enola in a hug, then Sherlock who took it reluctantly, and Doctor Watson.

Lord Tewkesbury took Enola’s hand and kissed it. Her hand tingled again, like her cheek had. “And here is my darling fiancé. Unto the breech, my darling?” 

“Unto the breech,” Enola replied with a nod. Doctor Watson delt with the porters, getting them to put their bags on the Tewkesbury carriage. Then, the merry group made their way to the carriage, onwards to Thistle Hall and the secrets that waited them there.


	5. Of Engagements and Jiu Jitsu

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lord Tewkesbury has something up his sleeve.

Five  
Of Engagements and Jiu Jitsu  
In the cigar room of Thistle Hall, Lord Tewkesbury had decided that he hated cigars. But that didn’t stop him from smoking it anyway, then he took a sip of his glass of scotch afterwards and fiddled with the cigar nervously. 

“Are you sure that this is going to work?” this came from Lord Whittier, the second son in the Whittier family, and one of Tewkesbury’s oldest friends. 

He was tall, with blond hair, and blue eyes, and a charming smile that Tewkesbury had seen melt the heart of many a young lady on the ball room floor. 

“Yes,” said Tewkesbury, “it’s the perfect plan. There was no way that I could get Enola to agree to a traditional wedding, and this way well…it will seem like it’s more her idea than mine.” 

“Even though you are the one that coerced her brother into putting a fake engagement notice in the paper?” Lord Whittier asked. "Under the rouse of solving a mystery that five detectives have already failed at? Including Detective Lestrade?"

“Well, it’s not entirely a lie,” Tewkesbury said, as he took a sip of his scotch again, “you did want us to investigate the ghost that has been pestering the property. And figure out what has been killing the brides before you sell, so you can figure out if it is actually a human or if it is, indeed, spectral.” 

“Point taken,” said Lord Whittier, “but what if you go through all of this trouble, and Miss Holmes still doesn’t fall in love with you?” 

“It’s not the falling part that I’m worried about,” Tewkesbury admitted, “I think...I know she's already there. And I understand that she’s wanted her freedom, but I…. I do not want to be without her anymore. I loathe knowing that she’s away from me, and there are days and weeks where I go without seeing her. I want her in my life. For now, and for always. Besides which there were…events that unfolded recently…” 

Lord Whitter raised an eyebrow. “By events, do you mean clothes?” 

Tewkesbury coughed. "We're not sixteen anymore. We're both consenting adults. It was all..." 

Lord Whitter patted him on the shoulder. “Relax, old friend. You know as well as I do that I'm the last person to judge. Are you only doing this to make an honest woman of her, then?” Lord Whittier said. “Because there are easier ways. I met Mycroft, and he seems very approving of the idea of you as a suitor.” 

“That would be the surest way to lose her,” said Tewkesbury, “she hates her brother, and he’s been trying to press suitors on her for ages. The last one, Enola tossed out of a window.” 

Lord Whittier raised an eyebrow. “She tossed him out of a window? The small girl I’ve met who discusses the origins of flowers with you at tea?” 

“She’s trained in jiu jitsu.” 

“Jiu whatsu?” 

“Martial arts,” Tewkesbury replied. Lord Whittier still looked blank. “It’s a type of intense fighting.” 

Lord Whittier look baffled, and Tewkesbury couldn’t help but be pleased. He quite delighted in Enola shocking people by defying traditional standards. “So, it’s all worth it? This ridiculous rouse about a ghost?” 

“You do have a ghost,” Lord Tewkesbury reminded him, “it’s not a complete rouse.” 

Lord Whittier shook his head. “You know what I meant.” 

“Enola isn’t one for traditional,” said Lord Tewkesbury, “this is the right way. A little mystery, a little haunting…. I told the plan to Sherlock, and even he approved. That’s why he’s been helping me with it.” 

“Sherlock Holmes? The detective with the emotional range of a roman statue? You thought he was the best one to go to for advice on a proposal? The man that called Violin-Making As It Was, As It Is too dramatic for his taste?” 

“Doctor Watson also approved,” Tewkesbury admitted. 

“Oh. Well…. suspense, intrigue, of course that’s the perfect proposal, then. Speaking of, where is your potential fiancé anyway?” 

“Looking for ghosts,” Tewkesbury replied. 

“Naturally,” said Lord Whittier, taking a drink of his scotch, “well, I will say this. If she does accept your proposal, you’re going to be the strangest, most bohemian couple the world has ever seen.” 

“Here’s to hoping,” said Tewkesbury with a smile.


	6. Into Oblivion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enola and Tewkesbury discuss the unfolding of certain events.

Six   
Into Oblivion   
Enola had lost track of how many rooms there were in Thistle Hall. Once she, her brothers, and Doctor Watson, had arrived Lady Tewkesbury had gone to handle arrangements for the “wedding”. While Lord Tewkesbury was being entertained by the owner of home, Lord Whittier. Lord Whittier’s younger sister, Lady Whittier, was showing them around the home. 

Lady Whittier was a young girl, aged seventeen, with a heart shaped face, full lips, and hair as golden blond as hair brothers. “Now this is where Fannie died,” Lady Whittier explained, “I was twelve when it happened. They sent me away when she fell ill, because I’d never had scarlet fever before so I wasn’t there for her death.” 

Sherlock and Mycroft both stepped in, taking a look around along with Doctor Watson. Enola followed shortly after. The room had a large, four poster bed, a chamber pot at the foot, a fireplace, and a chest at the edge of it. 

“How long did it take?” Sherlock asked. “For the girl to die?” 

“Holmes,” Watson chided, looking affronted on Lady Whittier’s behalf at Sherlock’s lack of compassion. 

“What?” said Sherlock. “It’s a valid question.” 

“Still, you could have some sympathy----” 

Enola smirked. “Doctor Watson, you do remember who you are talking to, don’t you? Sympathy isn’t something my brother does well. Along with manners.” 

Sherlock scowled. “I’m only trying to get the facts.” 

“Yes, well, perhaps if you had a better bedside manner, our younger sister wouldn’t be getting married before you,” said Mycroft. 

Doctor Watson coughed. “Yes.” He shared a look with Enola, who smiled back at him, and then shared a look at Sherlock who only rolled his eyes heavenward. 

“Last I checked,” said Sherlock, “the wedding wasn’t the only thing of importance happening this weekend. We still have a murder to solve. There’s been five brides killed here, and since we know it isn’t anything spectral----” 

“Oh, but it is!” Lady Whittier said. “All of the brides saw Fannie on the night before the wedding. She visits them in their room, and the wedding march plays. Then, she lets out a scream and disappears before anyone can find her. Every, single bride has had the same experience.” 

“Every, single, bride?” said Enola. 

“Yes,” said Lady Whittier. 

“But how many weddings do you have here?” 

“Well, we only do them on weekends, and in the Spring and Summer. But yes, ever since Fannie died, they’ve always seen her.” 

“But there have only been five brides that have died?” Enola asked. “Everyone else survived?” 

“Yes,” said Lady Whittier. 

“We should talk with those other brides,” said Enola, “it’s impossible that they all saw the same thing. There might have been something that was missed.” 

“We’ve already interviewed them!” Doctor Watson interjected. 

“All one hundred and thirty of them?” Enola said. 

“Yes,” Doctor Watson answered, “Sherlock, Mycroft and I all started works on this case weeks ago.” 

Enola frowned. “But the newspaper article on the most recent bride only happened a few days ago. How long have you been working on this case?” 

Lady Whittier coughed. “We’ve had Mr. Holmes on retainer for a while now. The family has been trying desperately hard to figure out everything that’s going with the home, because we’ve been looking to sell it for quite some time.” 

“Yes,” said Sherlock, “and since Tewkesbury was the one that brought this to me years ago, I’ve been looking into it any time there was something strange that occurred within the halls.” 

Enola narrowed her gaze. “You’ve never been one to work on a case that takes this long.” 

“Well, cases aren’t books, Enola. Some of them aren’t neatly wrapped up with covers,” Sherlock said, “besides, you of all people should know that I am dedicated to my work. As much as you yourself are.” 

“Yes, Enola,” said Mycroft, “Sherlock is dedicated to the pursuit of truth.” 

This time, Enola frowned. Mycroft rarely came to the defense of their brother. Or anyone, for that matter. That Mycroft was suddenly taking Sherlock’s side was strange, although perhaps she was trying to create a united front for the sake of the ‘wedding’. 

“Yes, of course,” said Enola, “I am terribly sorry for doubting you, brothers. As this information was just sprung on me, I wasn’t aware of all of the groundwork that had been done on the case.” 

“Yes, well,” said Doctor Watson, “perhaps we should have Enola go over the case files for herself, brother? And we can continue to investigate the rooms?” 

Sherlock coughed. “Yes, absolutely,” Sherlock said. “Doctor Watson, don’t you know where those files are? Can you get them for her?” 

“Absolutely,” said Doctor Watson. 

Enola found herself ushered out of the room by Doctor Watson. When they were out of the room, the door was shut behind her. Enola scowled. “Doctor,” said Enola, “what, exactly, is going on?” 

Doctor Watson took a deep breath. “Nothing. We’re here to investigate the dead brides. That’s it.” 

“Alright----but why do I have to have a fake wedding to Lord Tewkesbury in order to do this?” Enola asked. 

“Because we need to drag the ghost out,” said Doctor Watson. 

“But the ghost isn’t----” 

“Go to the library,” said Doctor Watson, “I’ll bring you the files so that you can still read the interviews.” 

“Doctor Watson----” 

“You remember where the library was, right?” Doctor Watson said. 

“Yes, of course,” Enola said. 

“Good. Then, off to the library with you.” Doctor Watson patted her on the shoulder, and she found herself whisked away in the opposite direction as Doctor Watson sped away as if he himself had seen a ghost. 

Frowning, Enola went in the direction of the library to wait. She was surprised when she opened the door to find Tewkesbury there, reading. “Tewkesbury,” she said with a smile, “what are you doing in here? Shouldn’t you be off with Lord Whittier carousing or something Lordly?” 

Tewkesbury put down the book that he was reading and smiled at her. “Enola,” he said, “what are you doing here?” 

“Remember, I’m part of your fake wedding to solve your mystery,” Enola replied, “but I’m starting to wonder if perhaps it isn’t the brides, perhaps its Thistle Hall itself. Everyone’s been acting rather oddly.” 

“Weddings,” said Lord Tewkesbury, “they can cause unnecessary stress on families.” 

Enola sighed. “You do remember this is----” 

“A fake wedding,” said Lord Tewkesbury, “yes, I know. And I’ve promised that I’ll cry off the minute that we’re able to figure out what caused the deaths of those other brides.” 

“That’s all this is?” Enola said. “Because I know…” 

“The moment we had,” Lord Tewkesbury, “not so long ago. At the ball I took you too.” 

“Yes,” Enola said, “at the ball that you invited me to. I’m sorry if I gave you the wrong impression, Tewkesbury. I seduced----” 

“Enola,” said Lord Tewkesbury standing, “you didn’t seduce me. You weren’t some brazen temptress. I’ve loved you since we were sixteen years-old, and I saw you on that train dressed in breeches. You needn’t apologize.” 

“I don’t?” Enola said. “Because I….I was feeling vulnerable, and out of place because all of those Mama’s were speculating about whether or not we were engaged. When they found out we weren’t, they were so….” 

“Judgmental?” said Tewkesbury with a wry smile on his face. 

“Yes,” she said, with a faint blush on hers. “And I cried because they made me feel inferior even though I know I'm not, and you know I don’t cry, and so I kissed you and….” 

“And we tumbled into oblivion together,” he said. He reached out and took her hand. “You don’t need to apologize. If oblivion has your face, Enola, I’ll go there. Anytime, anywhere. Always.” 

“You’re frightfully good,” Enola said, her cheeks still red. 

“And you are wonderful,” he replied, squeezing her hand. 

There was a knock on the door. “Enola, I’ve got the files----” the door opened, and Doctor Watson was there carrying boxes filled with paperwork. “Oh!” 

Enola realized she was standing close with Lord Tewkesbury, and jumped away, as did Tewkesbury. “Doctor Watson!” Enola exclaimed. “We were only---” 

Doctor Watson chuckled. “It’s alright, Enola. You are an ‘engaged couple’ on the cusp of getting married, you know.” 

“Right,” said Enola, her cheeks still red, “right.” 

“What are those?” Lord Tewkesbury asked. 

“Interviews,” said Doctor Watson, “of all of the guests that saw the ghost.” 

Enola glanced at Tewkesbury. “Would you like to help me review them?” 

“Yes,” said Lord Tewkesbury, “yes that…that would be delightful.” 

“I could help you,” Doctor Watson replied. 

“No!” the two of them objected. 

“No,” said Lord Tewkesbury, “why don’t you go relax, Doctor Watson? They’ve a wonderful billiards room, and I know that Lord Whittier would take you up on a game if you were to ask him to play.” 

“Right,” said Doctor Watson, “then, I’ll leave you to it then.” Doctor Watson grinned in a manner that Enola didn’t quite like and slipped out of the room, leaving the files of interviews on the floor. When he was gone, Enola took a seat on the couch that Lord Tewkesbury had been sitting on before. Tewkesbury followed her, picking up the box of interviews, and carrying them over. The two of them sat close together, and Enola was aware each time Tewkesbury’s leg brushed against hers. 

They sat there, in silence, going over the interviews. And Enola wished they were slipping into oblivion instead, which is what seemed to happen every, single time his leg casually brushed against hers.


	7. Of Ghosts and Thieves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The ghost makes an appearance.

Seven   
Sunday was supposed to mark the day of the “wedding”. Until then, they were there, investigating the previous guests and their experiences trying to find answers for the five, dead brides. Enola had spent the first day investigating rooms and reading interviews with Tewkesbury locked alone in the library. The day had been suspiciously quiet, and Enola had wondered that her brothers hadn’t come to get her for any assistance. 

On the first night there, Enola sat at the writing desk, making lists to herself. 

Fannie Whittier   
Dead of Scarlet Fever   
Appears at the edge of the bed   
Wedding march plays   
All the brides saw the same thing   
Only five of them dead   
What do the five dead brides have in common? 

Enola stared at her list and realized that they would have to interview the staff next. As she was scribbling her notes, she heard the sound of scraping. Enola straightened, and looked around, trying to decipher where the noise was coming from. She stood up, and Enola took the candle from her desk with her. 

It seemed like there was something coming from within the walls. Enola pressed her ear against it, the scraping getting louder. She followed the noise from her room, down the hall way, and was only deterred by a voice calling her name. 

“Enola!” she glanced up to find Tewkesbury standing there in his robe and dress shirt. 

Enola blushed at the sight of him. “Tewkesbury,” she said. 

“What are you doing?” he said. “Is it the bride? Did you see her?” 

Enola shook her head. “No, but there’s something in the walls.” 

“Mice, surely,” he said, “the family did say they’ve had all sorts of problems with the building…” 

Enola shook her head. “It’s like someone dragging something across cement…..” 

At that particular moment, there was the sound of a door rattling nearby, causing Enola to jump. “Stars and garters!” she exclaimed. “Did you hear---” 

Tewkesbury nodded. 

They glanced down the hallway and watched as the bedroom door that had formally belonged to Fannie swung open. They heard the down of another slamming shut, causing Enola to jump and reach out for Tewkesbury’s hand, grabbing it tightly. 

“Come on,” she said, dragging him forward despite the young, Lord’s protests. 

“Shouldn’t we get Sherlock? Or Mycroft? Or even Doctor Watson?” 

Enola glanced over her shoulder at him, a wry smile on her face. “Would you really entrust your life to any of them?” she replied. 

Tewkesbury sighed. “Point taken.” 

“Besides, I’m investigating this case as much as they are. I’ve a right to follow those mysterious noises.” 

Inside Fannie’s room, Enola shivered. There was a slight chill in the air. 

“Do you think it’s the ghost?” Tewkesbury asked. 

“Be sensible,” she replied. 

“But the scratching----and the door,” said Tewkesbury. 

“There’s someone playing games with us,” Enola said, “that’s all. An intruder.” 

“Enola!” Tewkesbury hissed, and he pointed at the floor. There was something wet, and dark pooling by the window. There was a loud shattering sound of glass outside then, causing both of them to jump. 

Enola ran to the window, ignoring whatever the wet substance was underneath. The window was open, and Enola saw off in the distance a figure in white roaming the grounds. “Tewkesbury!” she called. 

The young Lord came running to her side. “Enola, what is it?” 

“Look!” she hissed. 

The bride, who had been described as haunting only the halls of the old home, was roaming the grounds. Enola saw her white dress bobbing along the fields. And somewhere, Enola could hear an earie, faint version of the wedding march playing. 

“Run!” Enola said. 

She grabbed Tewkesbury by the hand, gripping his tightly, and together they ran through the halls of the old estate out into the cool night air after the dead bride. But the minute they were outside, the music stopped, and the bride was seemingly gone. 

“No!” Enola cried. “I saw her----she was there.” 

“I saw her too,” said Tewkesbury, “but Enola, maybe she really---” 

“She’s not a ghost,” Enola cried, “maybe someone pretending to be a ghost at the very least. She’s a distraction.” 

“How do you figure?” 

“Old homes like these----they have wine cellars, don’t they?” Enola asked. 

“Yes, a majority of them,” said Tewkesbury, “and Lord Whittier does enjoy his drink, which includes fine wines.” 

“I think, if we were to wait until morning, we would find that the substance under the window is wine, and that the shattering we heard was that of wine glass being dropped as someone snuck out the window. What we saw wasn’t a haunting. It was a robbery.”


	8. Of Blushing Brides and Devious Games

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enola and Tewkesbury hunt for the intruder.

Eight 

In the morning, Enola walked the grounds with Lord Tewkesbury. Sherlock, Mycroft, and Doctor Watson also did as well. “Glass under the window,” said Sherlock, “and the rocks were stained red from wine.” He gestured to the remains of a shattered wine bottle with his foot. 

“We do have a wine cellar,” said Lord Whittier, who was also there with them. 

“What about secret passages?” Enola asked. “Some of these old estates had them to help get Catholics out of the country when they were persecuting priests after King Henry the Eighth created his own church.” 

“I don’t know,” said Lord Whittier, “never had a reason to look for one.” 

“Well, it sounded as if there was someone dragging something against the walls last night,” Enola said, “it wouldn’t be a bad idea to have someone take a look at it.” 

“Sherlock and I can do that,” volunteered Doctor Watson. 

“Doctor---” Sherlock started to object, but there was a look between them shared that Enola noticed which made her smirk. 

“Come on,” said Doctor Watson, “we can’t have Enola traipsing around dark spaces the week of her wedding. She might get hurt. Much safer if the two of us do it alone.” 

Sherlock coughed. “Yes, well, of course.” 

Mycroft said, “I could come with you then----” 

Sherlock patted him on the shoulder. “No, brother. I think a better job for you would be to help Lady Tewkesbury with oversee the decorations. She’s helping the servants with the flower arrangements as we speak.” 

“Sherlock, be serious,” said Mycroft, “I came to aid in helping with the mystery----” 

“Yes, well it is truly up to Enola,” said Sherlock, “she is the bride, after all. Enola, would you have the three of us go traipsing around the mansion looking for a secret passageway? Or would you prefer it if Mycroft helped Lady Tewkesbury with the flower arrangements?” 

“Oh, definitely with the flower arrangements,” Enola said. 

Mycroft sighed. “You are getting far too much delight out of being a bride, dear sister. One would think that you were serious of it all.” 

“Serious of what?” Lord Whittier said. “There is to be a wedding, is there not?” 

Lord Tewkesbury coughed. “Of course. Mycroft merely has a strange sense of humor. Whittier, why don’t you take Mycroft to meet up with my mother, to help with the flowers?” 

“Surely,” said Lord Whitter, “come along, Mr. Holmes. It seems we are not wanted. Snobs.” 

Lord Tewkesbury sighed, mouthed thank you to Lord Whittier, and then turned to Enola. “Shall we start walking the grounds?” 

“Yes,” Enola said. 

He offered her his arm, which Enola looped hers through. They had been friends for years, and this kind of intimacy was not unusual between them. Although it had always made others scratch their heads. Now, of course with the wedding rouse, it was not so strange, the two of them being together in this way. 

In fact, Enola found her heart racing at Tewkesbury’s closeness. 

“Do you think we’ll find any signs of the ghost?” Tewkesbury asked as they walked together. 

“Ghost no, intruder yes,” she said, “but I wonder…. why use a ghost at all? The house is big, and if there is someone stealing, they’ve been doing it long enough. There's no need to use a ghost as a distraction.” 

Tewkesbury coughed. “That is an excellent question. You did say that you wanted to question the servants, did you not?” 

Enola nodded her head. “Yes.” 

“Well, we won’t get to it today, I’m afraid. The grounds keeper and several other servants are walking the estate with us, searching for any signs of anything strange, as the place is quite large. 13,000 kilometers and they'll have to question those in the towns to see if they've seen anything. But we’ll have to go quite some distance, I’m afraid, regardless.” 

“That’s quite alright,” Enola said, “I’d rather be doing this then stuffed away in the house helping your mother with wedding preparations. She’s going at it with such zeal, I feel almost terrible that it’s all fake.” 

“Mother does nothing half-way, even if its fake,” said Lord Tewkesbury, “you know that about her.” 

“I do,” said Enola with a smile, “I’m only glad that Sherlock didn’t try to contact Eudoria. I should hate to see the kind of fit that she would throw if she thought that I were marrying.” 

Tewkesbury paled. “Do you really think she would mind it so much? After all, that is what most young ladies are supposed to do.” 

“Yes, but Eudoria wanted me to have more than most young ladies. I know we’ve always had an understanding between you and I, Tewkesbury, but….I would only be induced to marry if my husband would allow me to keep my given name, and for me to continue my work. Be that as it may, most men do not want a wife traipsing around London at all hours after the criminal world.” 

Tewkesbury turned her to face him and gripped her hand. “Be that as it may, Enola, I am not most men. You would not be you without your work. And if I were to ever have the honor of marrying you, it would be merely to express the truth in my feelings to you. Not to lay claim to you my forcing you to take on my title or my name.” 

Enola’s breath caught in her throat at his words. “Tewkesbury….” 

He reached up and stroked her cheek. “Such a shame it isn’t our real wedding, after all. It’s a lovely home, and your cheeks are the loveliest shade of pink right now. The perfect image of a blushing bride.” 

He gripped both of her shoulders and kissed her deeply. It was not the first, nor the last time that the young Lord would kiss her during their acquaintance. But it was the first kiss that had made Enola almost weak in the knees, and even made her buckle slightly. Tewkesbury caught her just as she did. 

“Alright there?” he said, grinning. 

“Viscount Irritation,” she muttered, coughing and trying to recover as if nothing had happened. “There is a game afoot here, but you are playing something else entirely, aren’t you?” 

“Indeed,” he said, “come along, Miss Holmes. We’ve still got plenty of ground to cover. And plenty more games to play.”


	9. Of Details and Denial

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enola begins to connect the dots.

Nine   
The week was going by exceptionally fast, Tewkesbury realized. He sat across from Enola that evening after they had spent the whole day searching for any signs of their intruder. It took everything he had not to glance over at her. He had kissed her, this time on the lips, and while they had long ago reached a point where they weren’t going to restrain themselves as far as affection went simply for propriety’s sake. He had done nothing untoward. If he had, Enola certainly would have made it known. 

But while it was important to find out what was happening with the brides, he had thought Enola would have been won over by the idea of marrying him a lot sooner. Their conversation earlier in the day had made him think that he was close to getting it. She had seemed almost receptive when he had mentioned that he would not make her give up her work or name to marry him. 

In his head, he imagined that if he got her to the house, she would be excited by the dress, and the wedding plans, and eventually she would be swooning at the idea and want to make it real. Not that Enola was ever one to swoon, but he had wanted something from her. 

“Did you have any luck with the investigation?” Lady Tewkesbury asked. “Any sign of the intruder that broke in last night?” 

Enola shook her head as she took a bite of her dinner. “Nothing. Not even footprints. It’s almost as if----” 

“As if it actually were a ghost?” Lady Tewkesbury said. 

Enola frowned. “I don’t think that it is actually a ghost.” 

“Neither do I,” Sherlock replied, “the evidence of the break in confirms that, however, my issue is that there is someone dressing up as a young girl to scare people from this place. What did the other brides have in common?” 

“They were our cousins,” Lord Whittier offered. 

Enola and Sherlock exchanged glances. “Your cousins?” Enola said. “That wasn’t mentioned before.” 

Lord Whitter coughed, and shot a glance at Tewkesbury. “Tewkesbury told me to mention only what was important. It hardly seemed important that the girls that had seen my dead sister were cousins.” 

“Well, that might explain why they saw her,” Enola said, “Tewky, I can’t believe you didn’t tell me this.” 

“Tewky?” Lord Whittier coughed again, while Tewkesbury felt his cheeks turning red. Enola rarely called him that nickname in public, and Tewkesbury believed she was doing it now as she couldn’t truly voice her anger at him. 

“It hardly seemed relevant,” the young Lord said, “especially given that the girls were not the only ones that had seen the ghost. After all, the first girl that had seen the ghost was the maid that I told Sherlock about.” 

Enola glanced at Sherlock. “Maid? What maid?” 

Sherlock coughed. “Well, you talked with her already. We assumed that you didn’t have anything else to discuss with her.” 

“I’ve not talked with any of the servants yet,” Enola said. 

“Yes, you did,” Sherlock said, “the one that gave you the tea set, at the seamstresses.” 

Enola glanced at Lady Tewkesbury. “Rosie, was it?” 

“Lilly,” Lady Tewkesbury corrected, “oh! Do you know I’d forgotten all about her working here. Didn’t she have to leave, Lord Whittier?” 

Lord Whittier nodded. “Yes, indeed. She was the first maid to have an interaction with Fanny’s ghost. She immediately sought work elsewhere, and the seamstress who made Fanny’s dress happened to be looking for help.” 

“How was Betony recommended this seamstress? Why not get something from Harrods, like all of the fashionable young ladies were doing?” 

“Well, there was the matter of my eldest brother absconding with funds,” said Lord Whittier, “and well….” 

“Well what?” 

“Her fiancé knew this particular seamstress,” Lord Whittier admitted, “through his business. He assured us that we could get a quality dress at half of the price, with the finest lace even.” 

“What was it that her fiancé did?” Enola asked. 

“He was a tradesman,” Lord Whittier replied, “he had factories that made all sorts of reproductions, but they were most noted for their teacups. We’ve got some of them here, actually. Not bad quality.” 

“Might I see one?” Enola asked. 

“Enola, what does a teacup have anything to do with anything?” Sherlock asked. 

“Nothing,” Enola replied, “or maybe everything. I won’t know yet until I’ve seen it.” 

“Well, the cup that you’re holding in your hand belonged to them,” said Lord Whittier, “It was a French name. Cabaler and sons? Caboter and sons? I don’t remember, to be perfectly honest.” 

“Heart and sons,” Enola said. 

“Yes!” Lord Whittier said. “That was it! The English translation, anyway.” 

“Lord Whittier, I think someone is duping you,” Enola said. 

“Whatever do you mean?” 

“Because I was given one of those teacup sets by the seamstress. There might not be a ghost, but there might be a maid who knows her way around and is stealing things.” 

“Nonsense!” said Lord Whittier. “How could that girl possibly get from London to here in time to steal things? What’s more, why would she kill my cousins? She had no reason to.” 

“Those are all very good questions,” said Enola, “and something I’m afraid we must return to London to answer.” 

“But the wedding!” Lord Tewkesbury blurted, and he found himself being stared at by everyone at the party. 

“Is not the only important thing here,” Sherlock reminded him tactfully, “besides, Enola can stay here, and Watson and I can return to London to investigate the shop again.” 

“But it was me that made the discovery!” Enola insisted. 

“What if the girl comes here?” Lady Tewkesbury insisted. “I’ll return to the city, and bring her back, explaining that there was something wrong with the dress that you are insisting she come to Thistle Hall to fix. It will only take a days journey, and we can question the girl in time for the wedding. How does that sound?” 

“But the wedding is---” Enola started to object, but Sherlock coughed again. 

“Won’t be disturbed at all by this,” said Sherlock, “yes, Lady Tewkesbury, I rather think that a splendid idea. Why don’t you take Mycroft with you? I’m certain he’s bored stiff terribly here.” 

Mycroft huffed. “I am hardly an errand boy, Sherlock.” 

“Oh! But Mr. Holmes, that would be wonderful,” said Lady Tewkesbury, “I would so enjoy the company of a strong, handsome man such as yourself. I would certainly feel safer on my journeys.” 

Enola, who had once seen Lady Tewkesbury attack someone with a fire poker, really doubted that she needed the assistance. But she was glad to have her brother out of her way, so she didn’t question it. What she did question was everyone’s sudden desire to make absolutely certain that she not leave Thistle Hall before the wedding took place. Which wasn’t even a real wedding at all. 

Mycroft turned bright red. “Well…if you insist, Lady Tewkesbury.” 

“Of course I insist!” said Lady Tewkesbury. “After all, we can’t have Enola traipsing about London after a thief during her wedding! No, we must make absolutely certain that everything stays on schedule, so no one believes there is any scandal.” 

“Yes,” said Lord Tewkesbury, “that’s exactly right, Mother. We mustn’t have any scandal at the wedding.” 

Doctor Watson coughed. “Right. It might get too complicated, with the murders and all.” 

“Precisely,” Lord Tewkesbury nodded in agreement. 

“Fine,” Enola relented, “I will stay here, until the maid is brought back for me to question. I suppose there might be another ghostly sighting that we can look into, in the meantime.” 

“Precisely,” said Sherlock, “after all, it isn’t as if a maid can be two places at once, Enola. Even if the maid from the seamstress shop is somehow involved, the real question isn’t what’s her part in the murdered brides. The real question is who else does she have working with her here?” 

She frowned, hating that her brother was right. “Well put, Sherlock. I suppose you are right. Someone else had to be here to break in, and someone else had to be here to appear as the dead bride.” 

“Exactly,” said Sherlock, “and why should you want to leave Thistle Hall when the real game is here?” 

“But if it is only for a little while, what could the harm possibly be?” Enola asked. 

“The scandal,” Lady Tewkesbury interjected, “yes, we can’t have anymore scandal. No, Enola, it’s best that you stay here, and I will bring the maid to you.” 

Enola was beginning to suspect that the real scandal was right in this room, with the very people that were surrounding her. There had been something off from the moment it all began, but she couldn’t exactly put two and two together. 

“Yes well,” she said, “if that is all then, I am going to retire for the night. Much to think about, concerning this case.” 

“Let me take you to your room,” Lord Tewkesbury offered. 

Enola smiled slightly. “Thank you very much, Marquess of Bottomshire, but I am rather capable of taking care of myself. Good night, everyone.” She got up from her chair and made her way to her room. 

As she was just about to reach it, she saw to her complete surprise, a figure in a white dress standing near her bedroom door. The figure neared closer, and for a second, Enola thought she saw her own face reflected back at her, but older. It was hard to tell though, as the face was distorted through a gauzy, white, veil. 

“Enola….” 

The figure was glowing, a warm, yellow light, and she could hear the sound of the wedding march playing from somewhere nearby. A scream came from Enola’s lips and that was the very last thing she remembered before it went dark.


	10. Ghosts of You and Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tewkesbury recalls a moment between him and Enola, and realizes they are haunted in more ways then one. Mature themes involved.

Ten 

“Did you hear that?” Doctor Watson asked. 

While Enola had retired, irritated with the lack of enthusiasm for the mystery, the rest of the group had stayed at the dining room table. A scream echoed through the house then, and the whole of the group was on its feet rushing towards it. Tewkesbury was at the head, running as fast as he possibly could in the direction the scream had come from. Enola’s room. 

“Enola!” he cried out. 

Enola was there, on the ground, fainted. He bent down and picked her up. 

“Oh my!” Lady Tewkesbury gasped, and found her hand being clutched at by Mycroft. Mycroft himself had gone slightly pale, as had Doctor Watson. 

“The window!” Lord Whittier said, pointing straight ahead. 

Lord Tewkesbury, still holding Enola in his arms, glanced at the direction that his friend had pointed. The window was wide open, as if someone had used it to crawl inside. What's more, there was a tiny piece of white fabric on the windowsill. As if from a wedding dress. 

“Take her to her room, Lord Tewkesbury,” Sherlock ordered, a grim look on his face, “we’ve an intruder, it seems. Watson, check outside, and I’ll check inside the house.” 

“What about me?” Mycroft demanded. “You know, I was brought here to help too. Something you all keep on forgetting. And she is my sister.” 

“Take my mother and get her some tea, if you would be so kind, Mr. Holmes,” said Lord Tewkesbury. 

“Yes, please,” said Lady Tewkesbury, looking rather pale. 

“I’ll see to Enola,” Lord Tewkesbury said. 

“Everyone spread out,” said Lord Whittier, “and be careful. We don’t know what this thing is that’s in the house, ghostly or not.” 

“Ghosts don’t open windows, Lord Whitter,” said Sherlock, “everyone, spread out. There’s an intruder amongst us, and we’re not going to stop until we find them.” 

Sherlock then glanced at Lord Tewkesbury, cradling Enola in his arms. “Take care of her….” 

“Shall I send for a Doctor?” Lord Whittier asked. 

“Yes!” Sherlock barked. 

Lord Whittier nodded. “Right-o. I'll have my sister run to get one." 

The group dispersed, and Lord Tewkesbury took Enola into her room. He placed her on the large, four poster bed. He did the math in his head. It had been nearly two weeks since they had been together. 

It had happened all rather suddenly. What’s more it had involved a mystery, and Enola pretending to be his fiancé to get information. Enola had done this so many times over the years that no one knew what the story was between them anymore. Just before an important house vote, he had received a letter from someone named M stating that they had kidnapped Enola and that if he didn’t vote the way he wanted, he would kill her. 

With the help of Sherlock, they had spent two weeks chasing who they had thought was Enola around London only to find that it was someone impersonating her. By the time they found the real Enola, she had been investigating a threat that had been sent to her, also by someone named M, claiming that Tewkesbury had been kidnapped. 

They had wound up finding each other in an abandoned factory, where the Enola copy-cat had tried blowing them both up. By the skin of their teeth, they had managed to escape, and when they did Enola had taken Tewkesbury back to her home where they’d proceeded to help each other bandage and clean their wounds in Enola’s guest bedroom. 

Tewkesbury had been stabbed in the shoulder, and Enola had hit her head at one point. Both of them were covered in cuts, bruises, and blood. They could barely move. There was nothing romantic about the position that they were in. In fact, they both ached terribly, and were overcome with exhaustion. 

But Tewkesbury heard a slight sobbing coming from Enola, something he hadn’t expected to hear. He reached up, and clutched her face in his hands, making her look directly at him as tears streamed down her face. “Enola,” he whispered, “Enola, are you crying?” 

“N—n-n-no,” she whimpered, in such a way that he could see her body heaving from the sobs that she was trying to keep restrained. 

He stroked her cheek. “Shhh,” he murmured, “shhh.” 

He pressed his forehead towards hers, and before he knew what he was doing, he was kissing her. Tasting the blood, and the sweat, and the gun powder from the bomb that had nearly killed them earlier. Then, there was nothing but the fumbling of hands as they undid clothes, panting, and moans as they slipped into each other and towards ecstasy. 

It was everything he had wanted since he was sixteen years-old and had first seen her on the train. It was nothing that he should have had. They were in their early twenties, unwed, and for Enola it would be a scandal if such a thing got out about them. But in that moment, Tewkesbury and Enola cared only for themselves. And that they had survived something wretched. 

When you survive death, the taste of the one you love is all you want. No matter how forbidden it might have been. For Tewkesbury, he would have survived death a hundred times if it meant getting to taste Enola again. 

In the morning though, the two finished cleaning their wounds, and Enola sent him on his way as if nothing had happened. He had always known Enola Holmes wasn’t conventional, and he had settled over time, for whatever she could give him of herself. A kiss there. A touch here. 

But this time, it was different. This time, he’d seen everything of her, and wanted it all for himself. That was where the idea for the fake wedding had happened. That Thistle Hall happened to have a ghost attached and a mystery was just enough to get Enola there. Tewkesbury, meanwhile, could only hope that she would come around to the idea of marriage herself as they investigated. 

For he knew that if he were the one to ask, she would flee. Enola didn’t need him, not really. Not in the way that he needed her. Even if, by chance, there were a child Enola was so self sufficient she would find a way to raise it without a word of scandal, she was that clever. But Tewkesbury came from a traditional sort of family, and he had to at least try to do right by Enola. Even if it was on her terms and involved a grand scheme with a haunted house that wasn’t technically haunted. 

As he sat there, watching Enola rest, the door opened revealing the doctor. He was a thin man, with grey hair, and squinty eyes. He was let in by Lady Whittier, Lord Whittier’s sister. “The doctor is here,” said Lady Whittier, “come with me, Lord Tewkesbury, and we’ll get you some tea while he examines the patient.” 

“Yes, young man, I’ll take care of your fiancé. I promise.” 

Tewkesbury found himself ushered out before he could object. Well, it was now or never, he reasoned. If Enola were pregnant…. perhaps it would set them all free. On Enola’s terms, as he had always known it would have to be. He allowed Lady Whittier to lead him from the bedroom. From there, there was nothing left to do but wait. He and Enola were haunted, after all. But it had nothing to do with a ghost.


	11. The Hand Is afoot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft and Lady Tewkesbury make a startling discovery.

Eleven 

“Utterly ridiculous,” Mycroft muttered, as he helped Lady Tewkesbury to the kitchen to get tea. 

“What did you say, Mr. Holmes?” Lady Tewkesbury asked. 

“Oh, I am terribly sorry Lady Tewkesbury,” Mycroft apologized, “I was only contemplating the utter ridiculousness of my brother. He thinks I am a fool, but I know when I am being kept out of the way. He likes to believe because I work for the Crown that I am an imbecile, but I could be of use if he would give me something useful to do.” 

Lady Tewkesbury smiled. “Well, Mr. Holmes, I do consider your company indispensable, so you are doing something useful in my respect.” 

Mycroft’s cheeks colored crimson. “Why, thank you, Lady Tewkesbury.” 

“You know, I believe your brother is simply stressed. He might seem like he isn’t human, but even Sherlock has his faults. Why, he insisted on sending for a Doctor, and we have our own Doctor Watson right here!” 

Mycroft huffed. “You are right. I didn’t even notice that.” 

The two of them made their way to The Thistle Hall kitchen. When they got there, Lady Whittier was there, helping her maid with the making of tea. “Lady Tewkesbury, are you alright?” Lady Whittier asked as she bustled around the kitchen doing one thing or another. “You look positively faint.” 

“I am fine,” Lady Tewkesbury said, “a bit shaky from the whole thing, but nothing that a little tea won’t cure.” 

“Excellent!” said Lady Whittier. “Quite the bit of excitement we’ve had tonight. Do you think The Bride will make another appearance before the wedding, or have we seen the last of her?” 

“The Bride?” said Lady Tewkesbury. “Why not refer to her as Fanny?” 

Lady Whittier’s face turned bright red. “Well, Fanny was my sister. But The Bride isn’t Fanny. The Bride is a ghost.” 

“An intruder,” Mycroft corrected. 

“An intruder?” said Lady Whittier. “Does Mr. Holmes really believe that it is an intruder?” 

“It’s not an intruder!” blurted the maid. 

The maid was a pretty blond girl who was pouring them tea. Lady Tewkesbury, upon seeing her said, “Don’t I know you from somewhere?” 

The girl shook her head. “No, Miss.” 

“But you look awfully familiar.” 

“This is Daisy, our maid,” said Lady Whittier, “her sister Lilly is the one that works for the seamstress.” 

“Her sister, Lilly?” Lady Tewkesbury shared a look with Mycroft. 

“The one that first saw the ghost?” Mycroft said. 

Daisy nodded. “It frightened her something awful,” said Lilly, “our brother had to come fetch her to London, she wouldn’t set foot in the house again. There’s no way it was an intruder, sir. Lilly saw the ghost of the bride disappear right into one of the walls!” 

“The walls, you say?” Mycroft repeated. 

He glanced at Lady Tewkesbury. “Didn’t Enola say something about the walls? Some of these old houses have secret passages. Maybe the ghost isn’t going through the walls. Maybe that’s how they’re escaping.” 

“My sister said that when the ghost appeared, there was glowing light, and the sound of music coming from somewhere. Here comes the bride played,” Daisy said, “if that isn’t a ghost, what is it?” 

“I don’t know,” said Mycroft, “Lady Whittier, where is your wine cellar?” 

“The wine cellar?” she said. “Why would you want to go there?” 

“I’ve a hunch about something, I should like to investigate it.” 

Lady Whittier glanced at her maid, then back at Mycroft. “Well, Mr. Holmes, it’s only that Lord Whittier….well…..” 

“Lord Whittier what?” 

“Lord Whittier wanted Detective Holmes to investigate,” said Lady Whittier, “and I don’t think your brother would appreciate it if you did something you weren’t supposed to, and got hurt. Best to leave it to the professionals.” 

Mycroft huffed. “Oh, tosh. I am a gown man. I am perfectly capable of investigating secret passages.” 

“If you’re going, I’m coming with you!” said Lady Tewkesbury. 

“Ma’am, this is a dangerous investigation----” 

“Mycroft, do you have a wine cellar?” Lady Tewkesbury asked. 

“Well, no but----” 

“Well, I do. Which means I might know a thing or two about them, like for instance various points of entry. I am coming with you, Mr. Holmes.” 

“This is most improper, Lady Tewkesbury,” Mycroft objected. 

Lady Tewkesbury smiled, and got up from her seat. Whatever fear that had overtaken her earlier seemed gone. “Well frankly Mr. Holmes, I’d never let propriety stop me from helping my family. And you shouldn’t, either. Now, are you coming?” 

Mycroft sighed, and got up from the chair that he’d been sitting in. “Fine. But I’m leading the way.” 

Lady Tewkesbury rolled her eyes, but looped her arm through Mycrofts and the two went off together. They went back upstairs, to the spot where Enola had fainted. 

“Enola said she heard scratching, remember?” Lady Tewkesbury said. “That was probably the thief, carrying the wine bottles from the cellar through the secret passage. We just need to look for defects in the wall, and we should be able to find a door or a hide-a-hole of some kind. You search that wall; I’ll search this one.” 

“Right-o,” said Mycroft. 

The two pressed themselves up against their respective walls, feeling around carefully for any defects—cracks---or holes----or something that might signify a secret passage. They were like that for a good hour, when Lady Tewkesbury called out, “Mycroft!” 

Mycroft pulled himself away from the wall he’d been searching, then he ran towards the sound of her voice. “Lady Tewkesbury!” 

“Over here!” she called, on the wall that had been closer to Enola’s room. There was a portrait of a stern looking gentleman with a handlebar mustache that had been knocked over. Where his portrait had been, a door had been flung open, revealing an entrance that hadn’t been there before. 

“Come on!” said Lady Tewkesbury. 

“Now! Lady Tewkesbury, we can’t simply go traipsing about in the dark. We need a candle----” 

“Here,” Lady Tewkesbury took off her shoe, and Mycroft watched in surprise as she pulled out a lighter. “It was my late husbands. I keep it on me for good luck. Most frown at a woman such as myself with a cigar lighter, so I keep it in the one place others won’t look.” She handed it to Mycroft, then put her boot back on, lacing it up again and straightened her skirts once more. 

“Now, are we ready?” Lady Tewkesbury said, reaching out to grab the lighter from Mycroft once more. 

Mycroft stared at her, stunned. 

“Is everything alright?” she said. “If you are going to object again, you can stay here, and I can simply----” 

“No,” said Mycroft, “not objecting. Simply marveling.” 

Lady Tewkesbury smiled. “Oh. Well, carry on with that. But really Mr. Holmes, with a mystery to solve. Come along.” With her husband’s lighter in one hand, Lady Tewkesbury took Mycroft’s in the others and the two of them descended into the secret passage. 

The lighter gave off a little light, and it was hard to see. The passage was narrow, cramped, and smelled, and both of them could hear the scratching of mice that had made the passageway their home over the years. 

“Well,” said Lady Tewkesbury, “this is clearly how our ghost has been getting around. But where is the entrance? And why are they pretending to be a ghost?” 

“To scare people,” said Mycroft, “fear of the unknown makes people look away, rather than look directly at something. The ghost is merely a diversion so they could get away with stealing things from the house.” 

“Ouch!” Lady Tewkesbury exclaimed. “Oh no!” 

“Oh no, what?” Mycroft asked. “Are you alright?” 

“No, I’m afraid. My dress seems to have gotten caught on something. Here, hold the lighter so that I can get it off.” Lady Tewkesbury handed Mycroft the lighter, and Mycroft held it at an angle so that she might get her dress off of whatever it was that had caught it. She tugged, and tugged, and when she did there was the sound of something creaking and she jumped out of the way just in time to reveal a door swinging open. 

“Oh!” Lady Tewkesbury cried. 

“Christ!” a male voice called out. “What in god’s name----” it was Lord Whittier. 

The young Lord came and looked at the entry way that Lady Tewkesbury had just revealed, quite by accident. “Lady Tewkesbury?” the Lord said. “Mycroft?” 

“Hullo,” said Mycroft awkwardly, waving at the young Lord. 

“Hello!” said Lady Tewkesbury, waving enthusiastically at him. “We’ve solved the mystery. Well, part of it anyway. The ghost travels by a secret passage that seems to connect through the house. Oh, is this the billiard room?” 

She stepped through the entry way before Mycroft would stop her. “Oh, this is lovely! You gentlemen and your nonsense with always keeping us out of things. Why, the billiards table would be a splendid way to entertain for an afternoon. Now, we must call the others to alert them of our findings. Got to keep them updated on the case! Sherlock! Doctor Watson! What is it Sherlock always says? The hand is afoot?” 

Before anyone could stop her, she had wondered off, looking for the others. Mycroft sighed, and Lord Whittier looked at him with amusement twinkling in his eyes. “Come along, Mycroft. The hand is afoot.” He patted him on the shoulder, pulled him from the secret passage, and the three went to gather the others to reveal the exciting new find. 

A/N: Hello lovelies! I'm so sorry it took me so long to update. It was a holiday last week, and things got a bit busy. I was also working on finishing one of my original projects, so I got a little distracted but I'm back.   
Love n' stars,   
Cambria


	12. Tea and Lead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is something wrong with the tea cups.

Twelve  
Enola woke to find the doctor, Mycroft, and Tewkesbury hovering. A groan escaped her lips. “Busybodies,” she muttered. 

“You fainted!” Mycroft objected. 

“Because of the teacups,” Enola said. 

Mycroft, the Doctor, and Tewkesbury exchanged glances. “The teacups?” 

“They’ve been serving me, specifically, out of those odious pink teacups because I’m the bride. But it didn’t make sense to me that they would give away something like that for free when they could make considerably more money selling them. That’s when I remembered a company that had to shut down for using lead in the teacups.” 

The doctor frowned. “Lead? In teacups?” 

Enola nodded. “We need to have someone test them, to be certain. I don’t think those teacups were being given away because they were free. I think they were being given away because the factory closed, because they were making tea cups that were making people sick because they had led in them.” 

“How do you know that?” Mycroft asked. 

“The name,” Enola said, “on the bottom of the teacups. I couldn’t remember why I knew them, but it is because I had to investigate the factory making them a few cases ago. There were people getting poisoned because they’d been drinking from them.” 

“You aren’t preg----” Lord Tewkesbury blurted, but then back tracked. 

Mycroft’s gaze locked on Lord Tewkesbury, and the young Lord coughed. “You aren’t positive that it’s something else?” he asked. 

Enola stared at him with a knowing smile. “I am positive it’s not something else. I wasn’t sick until we arrived, and until I started drinking the tea. I normally make my own tea, to---” 

“Keep from being poisoned,” Mycroft finished. 

Lord Tewkesbury raised an eyebrow. “What? Why?” 

“It’s practical,” both Holmes siblings replied in unison. 

Lord Tewkesbury sighed. “I will never understand you, will I?” 

Enola smiled. “Never.” 

“I’ll take care of the teacup,” said Mycroft, “young Tewkesbury, you should come with me. We must leave Enola to her rest. After all, we’re getting closer to the wedding. We must have the bride looking her best, mustn’t we?” 

“Yes,” said Lord Tewkesbury, “we must.” 

Mycroft left first, but as Lord Tewkesbury was about to follow him, Enola called, “Tewkesbury!” 

Tewkesbury stopped, and turned around to look at her, closing the door behind him. “I am sorry, Enola, I almost blurted out our secret.” 

“It is fine,” she said, “but you should know, I am not pregnant. I believe that is the question that you were going to ask.” 

“How do you know?” Lord Tewkesbury. “It has been some time and----” 

“Every woman must have her secrets, Tewkesbury,” she said with a smile, “but thank you, for your concern.” 

“Of course,” said Lord Tewkesbury. “Enola I wonder….I wonder if we might….” 

“Yes?” she asked. 

He shook his head. “Nothing. Never mind. Goodnight, Enola.” 

“Goodnight, Tewkesbury.”  
A/N: Hi lovelies! I'm so sorry for the long hiatus. I've been working on some other projects and got caught up in them instead of the fanfiction. But I am back and will be continuing to update.  
Love n' stars,  
Cambria


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